Lost
by ivedoneworse
Summary: Those who lived past the crash of Ocean Flight 518 struggle to survive on the mysterious island. This isn't anything normal; this is fate vs. reason. Based off the hit TV show Lost.
1. The Crash

**Title: Lost**

**Summary: Those who lived past the crash of Ocean Flight 518 struggle to survive on the mysterious island. This isn't anything normal; this is fate vs. reason. [based off the hit TV show Lost**

**Disclaimer: Neither Lost nor One Tree Hill belongs to me. How sad.**

**Author's Note: I know I should be working on my other fanfic, but tada! Here is a my new story: Lost. This will not exactly follow the TV show, even though it is largely based on it. There will be similar themes and plots, but that's about it. Some of the character's have taken on some story lines from the show, and I tweaked everything to have it all come together. Flashbacks are in italics, and every chapter after the first will focus on a certain character. The last chapter(s) will be different. Enjoy! Read and Review, please. (:**

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Lucas Scott is, in all senses, awake. He is aware (for the time being), and he, to his great misfortune, knows exactly what is going on. The surroundings that reside next to him are oh so real, and his capability to feel it all is accurate. The smell, the sound; it taunts him. He stirs, creating the illusion for himself that he is fine. His eyes are shut closed, and he is reluctant to open them. The longer he keeps them shut, the faster it will all go away? No. No, he knows that, but there is no harm in hoping for the impossible. Lucas is a smart man. 

He is also, in all senses, a hero. He knows what has to be done. 

His eyelids lift. They are hesitant, but he finds himself looking hungrily at everything around him; he can't get enough. Splashes of green, areas of potential darkness, fresh flow of oxygen. Something is poking him: a fugitive twig. Lucas gets up, slow with caution, and takes a step forward. In the second it takes to shift weight, he is immediately engulfed by the shrieks of hysterics. The hero complex in him sprints forward. His arms strike against hoards of trees and buses, and new cuts breathe through his skin. His old ones, obtained within the hour, are starting to bruise. He is hurt, and this makes him run faster. The horrific noises sound louder against the stalks of trees, and Lucas pushes himself out of the jungle. The previous scene of nourished green opens up to an ocean view. Clear blue waters rush up against the island of smooth sand, yet the beautiful picture of a beach is broken by a perfect disaster. Oceanic Flight 518 lays defeated in front of him, and Lucas is in engulfed with catastrophe. The plane was torn into pieces; the pride it once held degraded into a tragedy. People are scattered like ants, half of them running around in a craze, the other half have given up. People are crying out for help, and Lucas darts around frantically, unsure what to fix first. 

He runs to an elderly man, bald and frustrated, and he dismisses Lucas with harshness. The hero backs away in reluctance, and his eyes glance to a hazel pair. She is beautiful, with dark hair and mysterious eyes, and she is screaming in horror. No physical pain is present, but Lucas rushes to her anyways. He doesn't make it though; he is accidently slammed against a man older than him, madly dashing through throngs of chaos. "Jenny! Jenny, where are you? Jenny!" is all he repeats, and he does not notice Lucas during his search. As Lucas gets up from the crash, he locks gazes with a man with bone structure strangely similar to his own. He is standing alone, his eyes transfixed on his legs. Lucas is ready to inquire the man if he needs assistance, but his help is being sought somewhere else. A woman his age, clearly pregnant, is struggling to get up, and the sound of creaking metal sings above her. Lucas is quick to action, and he yells for the man who is stilling standing. 

"It's going to fall on her!" Lucas screams out. The man, with an athletic build and dark hair, stares for a moment, looking from his legs to the Lucas. He abruptly runs after him, and together, they sling the pregnant woman's arms over their shoulders and rush her out of this potential disaster. "Watch over her, please." Lucas instructs the fellow rescuer. The man gives him a look, as if agitated by being given a command, but he does not budge. Lucas pushes himself up once more, running to devastation to devastation. 

He is in the middle of splashing a visibly unconscious redheaded woman's face with water, when he notices a man staring at him. Lucas looks up from the woman, still dabbing her face with his t-shirt, and comes face to face with an aged man. He is watching Lucas with both curiosity and irony, and Lucas looks away from the intensity of the gaze.

People are crying, yelling for mercy. Every five minutes or so, he listens in despair as people scream of another death. The former passengers were dropping like flies, and Lucas muses sadly if the pregnant woman is still alive. He prays in all that is good that this calamity of a story is not real, and Oceanic Flight 518 is actually sailing the skies in perfect conditions. However, Lucas is too acquainted with his fantasies and their failure to come true.

--------

A man with a rather high volume of hair has his back against a part of the plane, an unlit cigarette tucked in his mouth. His annoyance is contagious, and he pushes himself away from the destroyed aircraft, passing by the pregnant woman, whose unruly long hair cascades down her back and a protective hand rests on her belly. He eyes her for a moment before moving away from the crowd. A small man with large lips stacks airplane food into piles, instructed to do so by the man who was saving the survivors. He hands a packet of peanuts to an older man with dark hair and dark eyes. He is sitting quietly on the beach and declines the food without a second thought. The man, dejected, moves on to a guy more his age, who looks very similar to the older man sitting down. He doesn't notice the offer of food, too busy checking his cell phone for service. No luck. A young woman with curly blonde locks passes by the group, a sharpie held steadily in her hands. She is drawing art on her wrist; it looks as real as a tattoo. As she moves along the edge of the beach, her shoulder accidently collides with a woman with black hair and a scowl on her face. She hisses at the blonde, who, in turn, rolls her eyes, and the woman with dark hair grabs the hand of her child, pulling her closer to the jungle.

Lucas watches all of this in the solidarity of the island, covered by a spot of shade. He is alone now, no longer rummaging through the wreckage for someone to save. The panic has subsided into an inner battle, and there was no more screaming. Lucas rests against the stump of a tree, breathing heavily. It is only a matter of time before panic rises again, and he sits in peace until it does.

"Can you help me?" He is startled by the sudden noise addressed to him. Lucas glances at the source; it is the girl from earlier, the one screaming bloody murder.

"What's wrong?" Lucas asks, resting his arm atop his raised knee. 

The girl bites her bottom lip cautiously, and then begins to peel up the bottom of her shirt. Lucas stares in uncertainty, and he finds his cheeks a bit hot. She laughs, sounding almost pained to do so, and releases her grip. "I'm not going to flash you, handsome." Her voice is hoarse, and her dimples shine through her skin. Lucas smiles sheepishly, and the girl continues to peel her top above her abdomen. Lucas winces at the gash below her chest, and she grimaces at the exposure. 

"Do you have some thread? A needle?" Lucas questions her, providing a supportive smile. She nods confidently, handing him one of those sample sewing kit that they give out at expensive hotels. It's slightly broken, and she gazes at it with a small hint of shame, and Lucas knows that the kit isn't hers. "This won't be pretty," he warns her as he stands up, but she smiles at him mischievously, unafraid of the unexpected. However, a series of wounded groans follow, and they forget to exchange names.

--------

Lucas is washing his hands in the ocean, kneeling on the grains of sand. He is rinsing the spots of blood from his fingers, thinking quietly about the girl he has just sewn up. 

"Hey. You. What's your name?"

He switches his attention towards the man who asks the question. "Lucas," he mutters without hesitation; it's the first time he says his name out loud on the island and for some reason, it sounds weirder than normal.

"Lucas," the man addresses him. He is dark-skinned with a determined look to him, and his eyes reveal a past too deep for someone his age. "Come help me with the wood. It's getting late, and we should make a fire."

Ah. The wish to take a moment of rest escapes his grasp once more. Lucas nods and wipes his face with the shoulder of his sleeve. "Got it." He jumps on his feet, patting his hands on the sides of his jeans. "What's your name?"

He hesitates for a moment before announcing clearly, "Skills." 

Lucas gives a friendly laugh, yet he finds it odd to be laughing in such a situation. "Is that your birth name?"

Skills shakes his head. "No offense man, but I don't trust anybody here with my real information." Lucas sighs, more sympathetic than offended. They both start to gather wood individually, absorbed by their own silent thoughts. The survivors around them are also quiet, mostly from fear of the unknown. They watch Lucas like a pack of wolves watches their leader, and he's not sure how to handle all of this. As he tosses another log of wood into the fire pit, he glances towards Skills direction. "You think they would be here by now."

"Who?" Skills asks vaguely, dumping a stack of wood. The flames flared wildly for a moment, then settled back to its previous state.

"Anyone." As the fire settles, so does the group. The rest of them crowds around it for warmth, and perhaps for their own sanity to reignite. Lucas feels the tension – mistrust, suspicion, and inquisition fills the spaces between person to person, and he wonders whether he should say something. He restrains, however, unsure what to say, and what he does say should be spoken as gently as possible. They are looking to him as their solution out of this problem, and Lucas curses himself. He never likes being the hero, but he finds himself unable to do anything else. He saves everyone before himself, even those who don't want to be saved, and that little fact makes him the silent head of the gang. 

Finally, the curly blonde girl with a black sweater offers her voice. "So, how did this exactly happen?"

Lucas feels the eyes on him. This is what he gets for trying to rescue everyone. "Well," he begins gingerly, staring at the group. He does a quick check to see how many of them are crying; he loses count. "It could have been the turbulence. Something hit an air pocket, maybe. We were about 40,000 feet in the air, or that's what they said, and we could have dropped about 200 feet or so."

"I don't care how we fell. I want to know why we haven't been rescued yet." A man states loudly, almost accusing Lucas. It was the same man who helped the pregnant woman out of the clutches of a falling wing from the plane.

Lucas looks defeated. Before he can respond, another man responds. "Calm down, Nathan. You should be thankful –"

"No, you're right. This is terrific, dad." Nathan and his father scold heatedly at each other, and Lucas realizes that the father was the same guy who was staring at him during the crash and who was later gazing peacefully out into the ocean. "I'm freaking ecstatic."

"He's right. Maybe if we all just calmed down," Lucas begins.

"So we're just going to sit around and wait for someone to rescue us?" The redheaded girl frowns. He had helped her earlier, and Lucas feels slightly betrayed to have her point a finger on him. 

"Wonderful, we're stuck with a bunch of morons," a raven haired woman with strong physical features retorts sharply. A young girl, no older than 10, flinches at her mother's severe choice of words, and she is pulled closer to her father. 

"Nicki, don't." A tired looking man states warningly, but his wife dismisses him. He pulls the little girl away from her mother, and they abruptly explode into an argument. It is the same man who was earlier calling out for Jenny, and Lucas now knows that it wasn't his wife who he was desperately searching for. 

"Here's the thing. Why don't you all call me when someone is actually here for us, rather than having squinty over here trying to be chief." He nods a head towards Lucas. "How about that? Well, I think that sounds mighty good to the Keller," the man with large hair and the unlit cigarette comments easily before backing away from the group, winking at a brunette- the brunette Lucas stitched. She rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest, and returns herself back to Lucas. 

"Why don't you be a man and actually help?" Skills mutters darkly, walking dangerously up towards 'Keller.' 

"Hey, come on!" Lucas calls out to them, hurrying himself in front of Skills, eager to prevent any kind of scene. Another guy follows him, ready to aid Lucas' help. 'Keller' scoffs in disgust.

"Screw off, pipsqueak." He intimidates the guy; he was the one passing out food earlier. He cringes slightly at possible threat, and he is moving away slowly.

"Hey! Don't speak to him like that, asshole!" The return of the brunette. She is walking up to him, her eyes flickering dangerously.

"Feisty," Keller grins, and Lucas holds her back.

The whole crowd suddenly breaks out into arguments. Lucas can hear a brother and sister disputing animatedly and a couple in a quarrel about something he cannot understand. He goes to do what he does best – being the superman protagonist. He races from dilemma to dilemma, trying to help resolve the matters that are destroying set bonds.

"Okay, fighting, seriously?" A few heads turn towards the source of the voice. The pregnant woman is standing, her hand affectionately rubbing her belly. Lucas wonders how she, of all people, is still carrying her good sense. He listens in admiration. "We just crashed on a plane. We were meant to go from the US to Australia, and now we're stranded on this island in God knows where with God knows who. Wouldn't it be just a little wise to focus on how to get out of here, rather than beating the crap out of each other? Arguing is going to do nothing but work against saving ourselves. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm leaning towards getting back home. So just stop yelling at each other and let's find a way to get back to normal." There is some silence, and Lucas smiles at her in thanks. She smiles back, her hand still stroking her stomach.

"Do none of you idiots know anything about aviation or aeronautics?" The elderly bald man shouts at the group. He does not seem bothered by his raised level in voice; he must be used to it, Lucas considers.

"What do you know old man?" Nathan raises a brow, and the pregnant woman hushes him.

"You have to find the damn cockpit. If it's intact, you look for the transceiver to send out a signal for a rescue party. The transceiver looks like a complicated walkie-talkie. This generation is filled with goddamn idiots."

The curly blonde laughs, and Lucas laughs with her. "All right, so we go to the cockpit."

The old man nodded. "You go to the cockpit."

--------

The next morning was brutal. Realization begins to hit everyone in the face, and it is only now that they understand the impact of what has happened. Lucas prepares his walk back towards the torn plane, trying to comfort as many people along the way. He feels obligated to do so, and it is tiring him. 

"You're going off to the cockpit, right?" Lucas turns, facing Nathan. He looks rather peeved as he scans Lucas, his arms folded.

"Yeah," Lucas confirms and continues to walk.

"I'm going with you," Nathan states, striding to his side.

"Look, man, I'm fine. It won't take long."

"I didn't ask how long it was going to take. I'm going."

Lucas furrows his brows, but does not object. However, the pair does not make it very far before being interrupted again.

"If he can go, I'm going too." The blonde girl stands behind them, and a small smirk etches her face.

"No," Lucas shakes his head, feeling the situation becoming ridiculous. "This is a one person job. You guys can be putting yourself –"

"You can keep talking, but I'm going either way." She crushes him with her statement, and Lucas tries to hide his amused grin.

"Fine, then."

"Okay."

"Can we go?" Nathan demands, impatience building in his chest. He seems eager to stretch out his legs. The trio walks in silence for awhile, taking in the scenery. If their situation wasn't so tragic, Lucas would have enjoyed the sight of such an exotic beach and mysterious jungle. The reality was so unpleasant in comparison.

"I'm Peyton, by the way," she states out loud. She squints through one eye at them, greeting her fellow survivors as if the whole thing was so casual. She seems so at ease.

"Nathan," the other guy brushes off, indifferent about the exchange of information.

"I'm Lucas," he confirms.

"I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are."

Lucas laughs. "I don't know what to make of that."

"They think you're going to save them."

Nathan laughs bitterly, and Lucas frowns. His hero complex haunts him wherever he goes. 

--------

They are back at camp, and to his lack of surprise, another fight has gone ablaze. Another predication: it's between Skills and Keller.

"Yeah, blame it on the black man!"

"Chris Keller isn't dumb. I know what I saw."

"'Chris Keller isn't dumb,' what the hell are you talking about man! You refer to yourself in third person!"

"Well I didn't blow up the plane." Skills punches the grin off of Chris' face, and Lucas and Nathan dart between them, grabbing each man away from each other. 

"Stop it, guys!" Everyone seems to settle for a moment, and the two men release their grips on the fighters. Lucas sighs, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "Good news and bad news. We found the transceiver, but it's not working."

Peyton emerges from the crowd and waves it in the air. The redhead girl rolls her eyes. "It looks like a toy."

"Well that toy is going to save our asses. Now, I don't know how to fix it. Does anybody else know?" He looks hopefully towards the old man, but someone else answers his call.

"I might," Skills stated, still breathing heavily from the fight.

"Perfect. Why not trust him?" Chris snapped loudly.

"Hey, he's offering his help. We all want to get off this island, so why don't we show each other a little respect?" The small guy Chris had already threatened spoke up.

"Shut up, Tiny Tim."

"Give it a rest," Lucas shushes, giving Chris a warning look. Chris stares him off, but back away from the group and returns towards the far side of the beach. Lucas sighs and glances towards Skills and Mouth. "Some people just have problems. You know what's wrong with it?"

Skills sighs, rotating the transceiver in his hands. By this time, everyone has wandered off, each concerned with their own problems. "It's dual-band military spec. Chances are the battery is good, but the radio is dead."

"Can you fix it?" Lucas inquires.

"Maybe. It might take me awhile, no promises."

Lucas nods in appreciation. He turns to leave, but is bother by something. Glancing back at Skills, he wonders out loud, "How do you know all this?"

Skills does not look at him. "I don't tell life stories, remember?"

--------

Lucas sits alone on the beach. It's nearly night time now, and he finds himself regularly checking in on Skills' progress. Skills, on the other hand, becomes regularly pissed every time Lucas draws near. It is one thing to watch a sunset at home, hidden by buildings and homes, but when nothing but water lies in front of you, Lucas forgets momentarily that he is stranded on an island with a gathering of skeptical strangers. The sky turns from light blue to yellow to pink to red to purple, and now it is donning a navy blue. He thinks of his mother, and he prays she is safe. Learning that her son's plane has crashed will do no good for her in her condition. Troubled by his thoughts, Lucas focuses his mind at the day's end, and he lets himself be swallowed up by the dusk. He feels the presence of someone else sit beside him, yet he does not shift.

"I'm Brooke," the brunette states, and Lucas tries to smile at her greeting. It is the girl he slapped a stitch on earlier.

"Lucas." There is some collective silence as the two sit together, observing the waves wash up the shore, then down the shore. Lucas swears it's rising higher each time. He turns towards Brooke, who seems to be picking at her fingernails, and he notices something strong about her. "Have I seen you somewhere before?" he blurts out.

Brooke laughs her dimple-y laugh. "Probably." Lucas does not pry any further, because he has a feeling that Brooke would've elaborated if she wanted him to know. He is suddenly reminded of Skills' warning to not share life stories, so he keeps his a secret. 

"You're lucky, you know. Not many guys get to see what's under my clothes on a first date." She pauses. "Well, at least, some of the time."

Lucas laughs and looks at the ground. "That was a date?"

"Date, sewing up some curtains, whatever." The two exchange smiles and leave it at that. It is wrong to joke around at a time like this. Why hasn't a rescue party come? It's been two days already; they couldn't be that hard to find. They were on course when the plane fell! Or were they? Was this all planned? Was it an accident? How far away were they from civilization? Someone should be looking for them. Anyone. Families of the survivors, the government, crew members. There has to be someone who is out there in the real world, doing everything in their power to save what Lucas could not.

"Nice to meet you, Lucas." Brooke has stood up, brushing the sand off her legs. She winks and smiles before she turns around towards the small guy with big lips, whom she addresses as "Mouth." He, in turn, stands up too, walking by the testy couple with a young girl. He avoids eye contact, not in the mood to get involved with another fight. As he continues his patrol around the beach, he feels almost guilty as he stares at nothing but the sand. He is not ready to answer questions or provide help again; Lucas does not know what is going on himself. Almost everyone is edgy, stressed by the slightest change, but as Lucas hikes up on higher ground, he notices the pregnant woman sitting by herself, singing sweetly to her stomach.

"You all right?" He can't help himself. She is calm, and perhaps he greets her to have that rub off on him. "No baby stuff going on?"

She gazes up at him and begins to respond positively, yet something forbids her to. "I haven't felt it kick since the plane ride," she admits.

Lucas knits his brows in worry. He knows nothing of babies or children, and he does not know how to respond. He reflects back on the protective father calling out for his Jenny, but he does not want to bring him into another hectic situation. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head rapidly. "No, no. It's probably a coincidence. I asked that guy to get me some water. I think his name was Nathan." Lucas has a hard time imagining someone like Nathan tending to a pregnant girl. "I'm Haley, by the way."

Lucas nods. "Lucas." She gives him a knowing smile. It reassures himself he is their distinguished leader, and he scratches the back of his neck in hesitation. "If you need anything, I'm here Haley." He leaves, and on the way, he passes by Nathan who has a water bottle in his hands. They get a glimpse at each other, but they do not acknowledge the other. Lucas continues walking back towards the shore to watch the sun go completely down, but before he reaches his destination, he suddenly hears the cries of Haley.

"He's kicking! Oh I just felt it, he's kicking!" Lucas takes a quick peek back to see Haley grabbing Nathan's hand and putting it on her belly. She is insisting and delightful as she rejoices the survival of her 

baby. "He's moving around!" she laughs. "Oh, you felt that kick? His foot…" Nathan looks bewildered, but Lucas notices a small bit of relief on his face. He turns away from the two, not wanting to pester Haley's moment. He hears her voice one more time as he passes the fire: "I guess I think you're a he," she sings to her stomach.

Lucas sits back down on the sand and searches his body for anymore scars. There are plenty, but he is not determined enough to clean them all. He takes another glance at Skills who is still working on the transceiver, and Lucas decides it will be okay for him to sleep for the night. His mind drifts off to the airport, him as another passenger boarding onto Oceanic Flight 518 from Los Angeles to Sydney. Who would have known that in a few hours they would all crash, forcing themselves to survive in a mysterious island? It was something out of Lucas' hands. Something he could not slap a band-aid on and call it "fixed." This was reason vs. fate, and it would soon be time for the rest of the survivors to take their pick.

_The plane wasn't full. People were boarding, each individual engulfed with their own issues. Haley James tried to push herself through a crowd, but no one gave way to the pregnant woman. She blew piece of hair out of her face as she forced her way through, a hand shielding her baby from any harm. _

_Brian "Whitey" Durham went to Haley's aid, helping her put her things up in the overhead compartment. He took his seat behind her and caught his breath. After a few moments, he grasped his wallet out of his back pocket. Flipping it open, he gazed at a picture of a young man and woman holding hands in the front holder. Whitey smiled sadly at as he read the back 'Camilla and Brian – 1962.'_

_Brooke Davis was walking up behind them, and her wrists were held close together, a dark cloth covering them from view. A US marshal walked cynically behind her, and Brooke stared into nothing, her face blank as the man seated her down near the window. He pulled off the cloth and released one handcuff from around her wrist and reattached it to her seat. Brooke didn't look at him as he did this._

_Rachel Gatina looked around the plane in a provoked fashion as she made a quick stop at the bathroom before she took her seat. She stuffed something in her pocket before sitting down and wiped her nose of the evidence._

_Chris Keller had his shades on as he tried to stuff his guitar case into the top compartment. He yelled at some attendants for some demanded assistance before hitting on them, and they thought they noticed him from somewhere, yet they couldn't put their finger from where. He cussed at them and proceeded to try and cram his guitar in, denting the sides of the leather case._

_Antwon "Skills" Taylor boarded the plane late for having extra security check. He took his seat, and a man stared at him from across the way. Antwon stared back at him, and the man looked away, somewhat upset. Quietly bothered by this, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture from his pocket of a baby boy who looked quite similar to himself._

_Jake and Nicki Jagielski were arguing. They were already seated with their daughter Jenny, who sat obediently in between them. Jake rubbed his face frustratingly into his hands and Nicki cussed at him. Jake stared stunned at his wife and told his daughter to switch seats with him, further away from her mother. Nicki watched Jake bitterly, and the couple stopped speaking to each other. Jake strapped on Jenny's seatbelt and handed her an inhaler. The little girl looked up at her dad both gratefully and frightened._

_Peyton Sawyer appeared nervous as she hovered quietly towards her seat past the disputing family. No one seemed to notice her, and she appreciated that. When she sat down, she hastily rummaged through her bag, searching for something. A sharpie accidently spilled out of it, and she ran towards the floor to pick it up. She looked uneasy as some people saw her do so, and she swiftly returned to her seat, not making any more sudden movements._

_Marvin "Mouth" McFadden was reading a magazine. Feeling a bit tired, he closed it up and put it down on his lap. It was then when he noticed the price tag; the magazine cost $0.99, but he paid $2.50. Frustrated, he tossed it aside before knocking down a bottle of juice he had bought. It consequently leaked all over his pants, and the red liquid almost looked like blood. Mouth groaned again as he noticed the price of the drink – it was $3.75, he paid $5.99._

_Dan Scott was one of the first to board the plane with his son, Nathan Scott, who sat right next to him. The two were not talking. Nathan was reading a brochure for a sports medicine clinic, and Dan had his arms folded powerfully across his chest. As Nathan suddenly dropped the pamphlet, he tried to reach down and grab it, but it was too distant. He tried to push himself farther, but he couldn't get on his legs to do so. Dan had let out an aggravated sigh as he moved past his son to get it, but another man reached to it first._

_Lucas Roe Scott grabbed a fallen brochure from the floor and gazed around the room for its owner. Nathan did a little wave of the wrist and snatched it with an annoyed look on his face. Lucas raised his eyebrows and turned back towards the opposite row, lifting up his baggage into the compartments. He glanced back and saw the man's father staring at him, and Lucas gave him a polite, meaningless smile. Dan Scott stared impassively at him for a moment before smiling back._

_A voice overhead told them to take their seats; the pilots were ready to take off. The pleasant voice, a woman's voice, told them to get comfortable for it would be a long flight._


	2. Brooke Davis

Brooke Davis is, in all sense, awake. She finds herself in the ocean, the water rising up to her thighs. She thinks of it as a cleaning ritual and wonders amusingly how metaphorically this island has made her be. She will not say it out loud, but Brooke is grateful for her chance at metaphors. If it was not for the crash; her simplest ideas of metaphors would have been reduced to a mockery. 

She rubs her wrists silently, the markings still present. They are red and raw, and Brooke ponders on whether anyone has them noticed or not. She is leaning towards the latter – everyone is too stressed on their own survival rather than the mysteries of their peers. Brooke, however, is reluctant to let her guard down. In fact, the day when Brooke lets her guard down is the day they dig up a grave for her.

Her small skirt whips around in the wind, and she is reminded of the shame she carries for wearing the clothes she does now. They are not hers, but of the deceased. There is no possibility that Brooke would walk around willingly in that mess of a pant suit she boarded on. Besides, this attire makes her look less suspicious than the other, and a raise of suspicion is exactly what she is trying to avoid.

Brooke lifts a foot out of the water, and she knows she's been in there for awhile as she wiggles her wrinkly toes. A girl like her wouldn't be able to stand having her skin turn raisin-like, but one must remember Brooke is thinking of metaphors – she is washing herself from a dirty past, and she thanks the island for letting her do so. 

"_Ms. Davis? Ms. Davis?"_

_Brooke stirred in her bed sheets, her fingers pushing up her eye mask. God, silk was so soft. She decided she would let Rosemerta call out her name a few more times before fully getting out of bed. The old maid was getting impatient, and Brooke smirked to herself before she finally pushed the comforter off of her. The morning coffee she requested was already set and ready on her night stand, and a new Chanel dress hung over her ornate dresser. It was green, and Brooke frowned lightly. She didn't want to wear green._

"_Ms. Davis? You're fiancée has been calling for you."_

"_What does he want?" Brooke muttered, rubbing her temples in concentration. It took an alert mind to sort out Rosemerta's heavy accent._

"_The Mr. Adams would like to know if he could escort you to the brunch at the Palace."_

_Brooke was awake now, and her eyes were heavy with burden. "I won't be able to make brunch. He knows that. You know that. I've had something scheduled this afternoon for months."_

_Rosemerta looked stunned for forgetting something. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Davis. Is my assistance still required of this morning?"_

_Brooke's head shook vigorously – almost too vigorously. "No. No, I don't want you at the house today. My father is coming home this afternoon, and we planned something special together. Take the day off, if you must." Her tone was casual, but she was avoiding looking the old maid in the eye. Rosemerta _

_nodded quickly, before Brooke had the chance to change her mind, and left the room. What the maid did not know was that Brooke truly had been planning this moment much of her life. She had been planning this ever since she had witnessed her father commit the ultimate crime. A crime of ignorance, affair, betrayal, and most importantly, abuse of a lonely daughter. Brooke Davis was a woman of pleasure; she liked things when they went her way. Anything that got in between that has a heavy debt to pay. She would make sure ofit._

"Are you okay?"

Brooke whips her head around in surprise, and she curses herself for acting so vigilant. But as she stares at Lucas Scott, she knows he is no harm. "Okay as I'll ever be here." He gives her an empathetic smile, and she is silently irked on how a man can be so sweet at such times. "I heard you guys found some fresh water."

Lucas nods eagerly. "Yeah, we did. Near some caves, about a mile past the beach." He pauses, as if hesitant about his next response. "I've been thinking of moving there."

Brooke raises an eyebrow. "In a cave?"

"Beats walking a mile to and back there every day."

She considers this for a second. "Not a lot of people are going to want to live in a cave."

"I'm just looking for reinforcements." They smile at each other in a civilized manner, and Brooke realizes she is still standing in the ocean. She stalks slowly up to him, the sun beaming down on her exposed legs, and she notices Lucas is staring. Brooke is about to make a witty comment, something along the lines of: 'You like what you see?' but Lucas beats her to it first. "Someone found these on the island."

Brooke's heart drops. 

He hands her a pair of worn handcuffs. Very official looking, but blots of red damage it. She stares at it for a moment too long, but quickly refocuses on Lucas. "You know Jake? The one with the daughter? Well, his kid found this. Scared her to death. I'm not trying to advertise this out loud, because I don't want everyone getting worried. I was just wondering if you knew who these belonged to."

"Why are you asking me?" Her tone is too sharp.

Lucas looks taken back. He is thinking before he responds, and as he does, his words are spoken very sincerely. "I trust you for some reason."

Brooke glances back at the ocean. "You shouldn't trust people so quickly."

Lucas laughs an honest laugh. "I guess that's one of my downfalls. Look, if you just say you don't know whose it is, I won't bother you about it again."

"I don't know whose it is." He leaves, and Brooke returns to the ocean, in need of another cleaning.

---------

"_What have you done!"_

_Brooke stood up. Blood that was not hers covered her body. The once ivory scented foyer was broken into a picture of misery, and Brooke fit the perfect description for the scene of the crime. Her father, Mr. Davis, the man praised in New York for being one of the smartest and richest in the city, was dead by the most brutal kind. Murder etched his body, blood spilled out from the chest of a gun-shot wound. His eyes were somewhat open, but he was long gone. All of this, however, did not stop his insides from continuing its way out, like angel hair pasta leaking through a drainer._

_Brooke had a gun in her hand, a gun that had belonged to her own family. They were the type of clan to keep such a vicious thing in their home, but her father was in high enough places to get away with it. It was actually admirable that they kept such a weapon in stock; it made them look powerful, and it scared the weak._

"_I didn't – "_

"_What do you mean you didn't! What do you think of your mother? Do you think I'm a blind idiot if I didn't know you just – oh, God. You just…" her mother stood with a mixture of shock, depression, and the utmost case of 'what will society think?'_

"_Mom, please, just lis – "_

"_I am not you're mother."_

"_Mom! I didn't do it, I swear!"_

"_Help! Somebody! Help! There is a murder in my house!"_

_Brooked backed away quickly, the gun still held tightly in her hand. Her red heels clicked sadistically against the marble flooring, and her pearls clinked together against the family heirloom on her chest. It was a shame that she did not choose to leave the gun behind – the police would find that the gun didn't even work in the first place. It was a fake, yet not to Brooke's knowledge. _

_Brooke Davis didn't kill her father, even if she tried._

"Can you help me with this?" Brooke calls out to Mouth, her arms heavy with cases. He is a bit stunned for a moment, astonished that someone has actually asks him for help. He runs over to her, a bit more anxious that usual, and grabs a couple of suitcases from her hands.

"I'm sorting out the luggage. Help the others find their own. The rest of it… well, we'll need to use the rest of it."

Mouth agrees with her quietly, and together, they place the belongings in rows, making it easier for the survivors to determine their own. Brooke glances at a fancy blue one, adorned with lavish patches of 

bright cars and dinosaurs. The name 'James' is written on the baggage in complicated yellow stitching, and Brooke is distressed as she realizes no little boy named James is on the island. 

"I found it!" Mouth suddenly exclaims, and Brooke turns to look at him. "My luggage. Nice to know it didn't blow up. I had a pair of socks in here I really liked." 

Brooke doesn't know how to respond, so she giggles instead. "Well, what's life without your favorite pair of socks?"

Mouth sighs. "You have no idea." They continue to sort out their luggage, and Brooke does as much as possible to avoid looking over at James' little suitcase. It does not take her long to find many of the other passengers' belongings; she already has Nathan and his dad's, Rachel's, and the Jagielski family's. She lines them up neatly on the shore and brushes off the sand gingerly. "Find yours?" Mouth suddenly inquires, observing the tag of a faded suitcase.

Brooke shrugs and mulls over a cover up. "I can't find it. Maybe mine got blown up." Mouth looks sincerely sorry, but she shakes her head. "It's fine. I don't have any special socks." But he doesn't respond. Mouth looks from her, to the now open case, and back to her. Something new is in his eyes. "You all right, Mouth?" Brooke asks in slight concern. Mouth stumbles over his words for a moment before excusing himself of the sorting. She watches him depart in confusion, and it is only then when she realizes he was looking through the US marshal's bag, the one that arrested her.

_She waited because she knew he would help her. He always had a soft spot for her, and truthfully, Brooke would always love him as well. It was such a delight of hers to meet up with him before, but now, it only served as a curse. She continued to wait in the silence. He was pushing the time, but Brooke would take her chances; he always showed._

_Soon enough, a car came rolling by. It was a nice car – a shiny dark blue with beige leather interior. It was his dream car, Brooke knew it always was. He had told her since they were little that it was what he wanted most in the world, even though it was both their secret that they wanted each other more that anything. Time would roll on, and as the years trickled by, their fantasy would become true. Engagement bells rang, but the chance at wedding bells? They never got the chance._

"_You're late," Brooke muttered as she pushed herself into the car._

"_It's getting harder every time," Chase Adams whispered back, glancing behind his shoulder. "Especially since you switched locations on me at the last minute."_

"_What was I supposed to do? They were right on me!" Brooke retorted. "If you don't want to do this – "_

"_That's not the point, Brooke," Chase explained softly, and he put the car in drive. "I just can't keep up with you anymore."_

"_Then don't," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. She was wearing too little at that time of night, and Chase knew what she was doing. _

"_You can come to me for money."_

"_I'm not taking your money, Chase."_

"_Well, I don't like you doing all this stuff!"_

"_It isn't your decision," Brooked huffed, leaning her forehead against the cold window. They sat without words, and each knew exactly what the other was thinking; they cared about each other too much not too._

"_You can't keep running away, Brooke." He gazed her sadly. "You always want to, but the world is going to catch up to you one day."_

"_Then I'll just keep running," she mumbled harshly._

"_Erica keeps wondering where I go," Chase changed the topic. "I missed Madison's ballet recital last week when you robbed that supermarket. Aaron had a class field trip that I promised to go to, but I had to get you out of Canada. Erica… she's smart. She doesn't want to say anything because she thinks I'm off doing things I shouldn't. The truth is, I don't know what's going on myself."_

"_I don't ask you to – "_

"_Yes, you do, Brooke," Chase sighed. She frowned at him, rubbing some red lipstick off her lips._

"_Then why don't you say 'no' whenever I ask for your help?" she questioned, and her voice was very child-like._

"_Because I'm in love with you, Brooke. You know I can't say no to you."_

"_Then why don't you believe me when I say I didn't kill my father!"_

_He didn't know how to answer this. They drove on for another full hour without speaking to each other, and Brooke was half asleep before he she heard the sweet sound of Chase's voice again. "I have something for you." He pulled out a small doll, small as his palm. "Victoria finally brought it upon her to destroy your room. It was the only thing I can swipe from your dollhouse." Brooke stared at the doll with wide eyes, her porcelain skin losing color. _

"_It was our dollhouse."_

_Chase laughed, and it was noticeable he had not laughed in awhile. "I hated it when you used to call it ours. It made me sound girly."_

_Brooke smiled, too. "You liked it. I know you did."_

_But Chase never got to finish his sentence. The police were behind them. They knew she, Brooke Davis, the murderer of her father, was in the car. They didn't even give them a warning. Bullets shattered the glass, and they were spinning. They collided unwillingly with the authority, and she heard their engine _

_stop. She leaned over and grabbed hold of the wheel and drove them off course and down the dirt for safety. Brooke held her breath for a full 5 minutes and realized that the police car was also still. She turned towards Chase with a look of relief, but what she saw wasn't Chase. Blood covered every inch of him, and Brooke shivered in her seat with fear. She found it necessary to cry and pity her loved one, but how much time would it be until the police awaken from their unconsciousness? Had backup already been called? She ran a caring hand through his hair, and Brooke found her lips gently grazing his forehead –her lipstick was red anyways. But she knew what must be done. It was for her own safety. She felt the tears tickle her eyes, and it wasn't long before Brooke sobbed as she reached into Chase's pockets and took out the remainder of his money. She needed a way to get out of the state, and as wrong as her way to get it was, Brooke needed it more than anything._

_As she tip-toed out of the vehicle, she would run as far and fast as she could until another escape came to her. Brooke was very good at running._

---------

Brooke is unsure on how to handle her predicament. The island, the island is different. She is aware that she has the ability to concoct a perfect plan to make whatever problem she faces as innocent as possible. They others do not know what she has done or what she is capable of. No, her mother would have taken care of that. Victoria would have made the hunt for Brooke as subtle as possible. Her father was dead, but why spoil the good Davis family name?

She is closer to the jungle than the beach, and she wonders anxiously where Mouth is. Who has he told? What has he told? But as she strolls deeper into the unknown, she is astounded to see that she is not running yet. 

Her hands are enveloped around two bags, and she drags it carefully behind her. She nears the blonde girl with curly hair, and a friendly smile outlines her lips. "Your name is Peyton, right? Peyton Sawyer?"

Peyton acknowledges her and nods. Her hands are rough as she is gathering some wood for the fire. "Yeah. You're Brooke."

"This is yours." Brooke hands her the black backpack, and something in Peyton's eyes light up.

"You found it!" she exclaims eagerly, grabbing it out of Brooke's hands.

"I thought Lucas didn't have to be the only hero," she laughs with dimples.

Peyton holds it very delicately, savoring the new discovery of lost and found. She peeks at Brooke abruptly. "Wanna see what's inside?" Brooke shrugs, and Peyton zips the carrier open. Inside are countless albums, all with a very neat and cared for appearance. 

"Nice collection, P. Sawyer." Peyton stares at her funny. "I'm good with nicknames," Brooke explaines

"Okay," she laughs, her corkscrew curls bouncing. "So you're B….?"

"Brooke!" a voice calls in the distance, and she is saved by the island once more. Brooke provides an impromptu good-bye to Peyton and hurries off, the remaining case trailing behind her. In a matter of seconds she comes face to face with Lucas, who has built himself a small camp.

"What happened to the caves, gorgeous?"

"Not enough reinforcements." 

Brooke laughs at his lame response and sits down next to him. "This might make you feel better. I found your pack." She offers him the dark brown suitcase, but he seems unaffected by it. "What's the matter? You don't want it? You know, I'll take – "

"Mouth found something."

For the second time today, her heart drops. And for the second time today, it's Lucas who causes it.

He pulls out a manila envelope, and Brooke immediately knows what it is. Something is bulging out from the bottom, and Brooke longs to hold it, longs to touch it. Her fingers reach out without conscious, but Lucas doesn't restrain. He lets her seize it with haste, the desire in her heart obvious. She is mystified by the envelope, and Lucas sits in knowledge.

Alas, there it is. A tiny little doll, about the size of a palm, and it is in Brooke's hands. She thinks of Chase and doesn't even realize what else is in the envelope. Her mug-shot slips out under her radar, and her eyes scan the doll hungrily; she can't get enough.

"You said you didn't know whose handcuffs they were." A perfect moment ruined by a perfect lie.

"And I also said you shouldn't trust people so easily." Lucas is silent, and Brooke takes her time examining the doll. It is dirty, and there are several tears around the edges. She knows there are some blood stains, but she denies herself to take a glimpse at them. "If you want me to tell you what I did, I will."

Lucas remains silent, and Brooke appreciates it. She places the doll down on her lap and takes hold of her picture and stares at the girl she used to be. The danger drips out of her eyes in the picture, and Brooke considers the idea if she still happens to appear with such indignity now. She peers over at Lucas, who is staring at the sand, and Brooke purses her lips. "I don't think it matters, anymore," Lucas starts slowly. "What you did. Who you were. I don't think any of the real world matters here. What I did, who I was. When we crashed, we already died. Three days ago, we were new again. We can start over, and we can be a better person than before."

Brooke watches him as he speaks, and she feels herself easily put into relief. She is entranced by his words, and Brooke muses to herself that maybe crash-landing onto the island was a good thing. She is in need of a rebirth more than anyone, and Lucas is genuine enough to tell it to her face. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and they watch the sun go down together as new people.

_Brooke sat on the porch, watching the sun go down. He said he'd be right back, and it was only natural for her to grow suspicious. Yet Owen was a good man with a good heart; Brooke felt remorseful for taking advantage of such a man. She was almost positive she felt something for him. Something…_

"_I got you some food." There he was. Voice as gruff as always, but in a friendly way that Brooke came to like._

"_I'm not that hungry," she responded in a lie. She wanted to see how far he would go to give her what she wanted. It was a little trick she liked to play when she got bored._

"_You should eat something. It's good. I made it myself." Brooke stared at the sandwich and gave him a flirtatious smile before taking a bite. However, he seemed to miss this. In fact, he was giving Brooke absolutely no attention at all. It was odd; Owen always flattered her with compliments. She demanded to know his change of heart._

_She tried to take a peek at what he was looking at. He was gazing out on the road, staring at entirely nothing. Brooke squinted her pretty green eyes in determination, but came up with nothing. "What are you staring at?" she asked bluntly._

"_What?" His voice was quick, and he looked at Brooke angelically. His gaze didn't rest on her long as he switched his gaze back at the empty road. Then Brooke knew it: he was waiting for something._

_She stood up cautiously, tossing over the sandwich. "How long have you known?"_

_He did not say anything at first, but there was no use in covering up the truth. Brooke was the kind of girl who would found out everything eventually. He would not delay her suffering. "A woman named Victoria called me. She knew I was with you." His tone was laced with guilt._

_There was more to his story, but she didn't want to hear anymore. It took her only minutes to grab her things together, and she squeezed her eyes tight as she remembered the day she entered Owen's bar, and how a small bond grew between them. Brooke should have know that he was the good guy, and she was the bad girl, and those two never mixed. Good always wins, and the bad wither in isolation. But as she barged through the door, the police had already arrived, and she was slammed unkindly against the coarse floor with her hands held behind her back. She could hear Owen's obsessive apologies and explanations, and she snubbed to sympathize with his pains. They were taking her away to Sydney for trial, but she already knew that it was truly jail that awaited her._

---------

Brooke holds the doll in her hands, and Lucas is separating the useful and the not useful clothes from the unclaimed baggage. She wants to say something to him, or maybe even help with his sorting, but she cannot bring herself to do so. All she can thing about is the doll, and how wherever it goes, it brings her both good and bad fortune. She feels Lucas glancing at her every now and then, mostly likely to check on her stability. Brooke never returns those glances, because she likes the feeling of Lucas caring about her.

She hasn't felt that in awhile.

She begins to say something, perhaps to thank him of his warmness, but something else beats her to it. "I fixed it! Lucas!" Skills is calling from across the beach, and the rest of the survivors gather around him. Brooke and Lucas exchange looks of awe, and together, they dash towards Skills in a hurry, and she tucks the doll in her pocket. "Hurry! I don't want it to run out of battery!" But his next words are swallowed by another sound. Something, something so ghastly and heart wrenching and disturbing that it echoes throughout the whole island, and every former passenger gazes into the depths of the jungles in fear of sounds of a monster.

"Spectacular," breathes Chris Keller, and the rest of the group shudders in fear of the malicious noise. Brooke takes out the doll from her pocket. Both good and bad follows her, and maybe the island isn't on her side. Yet Brooke is a woman of pleasure, and she always gets her way.


	3. Dan Scott

Dan Scott is, in all sense, awake. He straps on his backpack and takes a generous gulp out of his water bottle. He stares out into the jungle for a moment before reaching down to his pile of luggage, lifting up a silver brief case. He snatches something, invisible to the rest, and stuffs it gingerly into the belt of his pants. He loosens his tee-shirt and drapes it over the hidden item, and it is clear Dan wants to keep it hidden.

The silver case is still open, and he glances at his surroundings before diving back in. He takes out a piece of folded line-paper and places it in the back of his pocket as well. A breeze of wind blows, and a glimpse of a dark hand gun can be seen under his shirt.

He clears his throat and shuts the case closed, and he is ready to start off.

"Hey." Almost.

Lucas, Lucas _Scott_, sprints up behind him, a large bag placing a heavy burden on his back. He is followed by Skills, the mysterious man with a strange knowledge of communication. However, Dan's eyes stays focused on Lucas and nothing else, and the poor boy notices. His uncomfortable stature is obvious under the heat of his stare. He can see Lucas darting his eyes away before he continues on. "You're going into the jungle," the young hero begins.

Dan raises an eyebrow curiously. "Yes, I am. To find some more food."

Lucas finally looks him in the eyes, and he tries to regain his title of leader. Dan smiles, amused. "To find food or that thing that was growling last week?"

Dan hangs his head back and plays on an impressive face. "Maybe both. I'll do whatever I can before the day ends." 

Lucas and Skills appear uneasy about this, and they voice their opinions simultaneously. "We're coming with you."

Dan laughs. "You two are very insistent."

"We don't trust you," Skills spoke firmly, and Dan continues his absurd grin. Trust. Dan hardly finds himself associated positively with that word. It requires too much effort on his part, and his faith consists of confessional lies. It is one thing to be disappointed by one's own disrespected behavior, yet it is another to have the capability to come in terms with a lifestyle like his. It is dismiss, or be dismissed, and it is a level of authority that continues to win him over. He does what he can in attempts to be the player with power. Trust does not succumb to his world type. 

But that was in the real world; this is the island.

"Ah, well. No offense on my part. Stranded in an island with a group of strangers really does affect your self-suspicion. Not a easy thing to ware off, I agree." His hands wrap around the backpack straps, and he laughs in a way that makes both Lucas and Skills puzzled. "From what I can see, there's nothing wrong with this. It's all fairly simple. I go out into the jungle, look for some food. Maybe find some more fruit, or maybe actual meat from animals. There might even be the kindest possibility that that noise _is_ an animal, and if I find it, well, that takes care of half the people here being too scared to sleep at night." He gives them a wise nod. "If anything, I shouldn't trust you two for trying to destroy a brilliant win-win situation."

"Then you should have no problem with us coming with you," Lucas defends his motives. Dan takes a long good stare at him.

"All right, my boy, I - "

"Lucas. My name is Lucas." There is definite tension, and Skills remains silent. Dan knows it's not his place, but he can't help it. He is, after all, a man who lusts for the upper hand. 

"Lucas. That's a nice name."

_Dan shook his glass and frowned in an unmistakable way. _

"_Dan. Not again. Not now. It's always like this." _

_He glanced up at his wife and took a sip of scotch. "He's a natural."_

_Deb Lee Scott gave a laugh, bitter and forced, and Dan ignored his wife's sarcasm. "Yes, he is, and he loves the sport, but you're pushing him too far, Dan."_

"_It's for his own good."_

"_He's nine years old!"_

"_He's my son. I can do what I want." _

_Deb looked at him incredulously, her hand placed heavily on her hip. "You can't talk about him like that."_

"_Deb, it's not - "_

"_I will not allow you to speak of that poor boy in such a way. Not in my house." She turned on her heel and tapped her foot as she did so, looking for an excuse to proceed on making her point. "Nathan is your son, Dan." She kept her back towards him. "Lucas is not." Dan looked at her with a blank face and takes another sip. She didn't elaborate, and it took him awhile as he gave a proper response._

"_You're defending a child you don't even know. It's all Karen. She's manipulative. Besides, what we should be really focused on is how Nathan is going to defeat him. That, my wife, is our main concern."_

_Deb couldn't help herself; she glanced back at her husband in repulsion, her fingers playing with her wedding ring. "Basketball," she hissed in disgust. "Is all you can talk about?" On that final note, Deb left the room in a fit, stomping terribly on the hollow steps. Dan took another sip of his drink._

They don't make it far as another one decides to join them. It's the brunette named Brooke, and Lucas is determined against allowing her to tag along. However, she is even more determined to find a way to have Lucas let her go. Skills takes no part in this, too involved with the now working transceiver. Dan watches as Lucas gives Brooke a sort of pleading look, but she gives no avail. Dan shrugs.

"It makes sense. We can go off in pairs. Get more ground covered," he explains. 

Skills seems to like this idea, but he holds an arm out before Dan starts his way. "I'm going with you."

"No, I'll go with him," Lucas intervenes solidly. 

"Alright, me and Lucas. Skills and Brooke." They form their groups, and Lucas nods to them to check their approval. They nod back. "Before you go, you might want to take this." Dan reaches back down into the silver brief case and opens it for their own personal view. Brooke gasps. In a second, Skills grabs one of the four guns inside the case and holds it in front of Dan's face. He laughs in turn. "You're going to shoot me, Skills?" he inquires comically.

"Where the hell did you get these?" Skills threatens. He seems to have experience with a gun.

Dan shrugs, still holding the case calmly. Brooke is staring at it an a trance, and Lucas is staring at Brooke. "I'm guessing it belonged to the US marshal." Skills stares at him unbelievingly. "Jake's little girl found those handcuffs, remember? I went back into the jungle when I heard, and I found this case under a pile of leaves. You can look for the badge if you want. It's in here." Skills hesitates for a moment before he reaches in and finds the evidence. Lucas is right behind him, and Brooke is turning a terrible white. "Besides, if you all seem to have the notion that I took these to kill you, then why would I even show them?" They all stare at him, unsure of what to think, yet Skills does not lower the weapon. 

Brooke is about to speak, but Lucas cuts her off. "He's telling the truth." Skills glances at Lucas. "I saw the marshal when he was boarding the plane. He had the case with him. Trust me, man. He's right." Dan gives Lucas a grateful smile, but the leader doesn't return it. Skills finally lowers the weapon grudgingly, and Brooke regains her color.

"We should each take one. It might not be safe out there. Who knows what we'll run into? That noise wasn't exactly hospitable." It takes a couple of minutes before the rest of the group grabs hold of their own protection, and there is a weird face Brooke has that neither Dan nor anyone questions. Lucas takes a pack of ammo and shoves down his back pocket. They are ready to go.

Dan readjusts the straps on his backpack, and Lucas watches him cautiously as he gives Skills and Brooke the 'okay' to get a move on out into the jungle. Dan also provides his friendly goodbye, but the two seem less eager to receive on from him. Skills and Brooke head towards the hills with higher ground, and Dan and Lucas make their through the deeper parts of the jungle. 

The move at a normal pace, making sure not to miss any strange sites. Dan has to applaud the island; it certainly isn't anything normal. As far as he is concerned, he views the island is a figure of belief, which is a long way Dan believes back home. He is not a religious man, but this island is something not to be brushed off. He is certainly not mistaking fate with coincidence, no, because he already knows that the crash was no accident. Each individual, each survivor, was called to the island for their own purpose. Dan knows this now. The island is powerful, and it is not just a plot of land in the middle of the ocean. He wonders when the others will finally understand this. They didn't crash-land here just for the sake of turbulence. They were here because it was destiny. And once destiny calls, it is not right turn away from it. Dan is searching the jungle to find a way to put the island at ease. That noise, that horrific noise that haunts the passengers is not an animal, it is the danger of the island, and Dan picks up his pace.

"Dan," Lucas begins in a wary fashion. "Why do you want to look for that thing so badly?"

Dan chuckles. "I thought you changed the rules. Aren't we supposed to be looking for food?"

"Why would we bring guns if we were just looking for food?"

"Have you ever tried to take down a boar by yourself?" Dan smiles as Lucas raises an eyebrow. "Didn't think so."

"How do you know there are boars here?"

Dan sighs. "I saw some a couple of days after we heard that thing. Tried to take one down, got a cut on my leg. I was debating on whether or not to use the guns, and, well, here we all are. Besides, it's better this way. I might go nuts and start shooting everything in sight."

Lucas frowns. "You have experience with guns?"

Dan pushes past a field of bushes. "Sort of."

Lucas stops in his tracks. "Like what?"

Dan glances up at their distinguished leader and looks at him for a moment. They stare at each other for awhile, and Dan is searching for something in the boy's eyes. "I guess you can say it runs in my family."

_Just as easy as it had all began, just as easy how it all ended. Dan didn't even flinch. His finger reached the trigger, and a little pop echoed the halls. His hand didn't shake, his eyes didn't waver. His older brother laid sprawled on the hard floor before him, a ruby red dirtying whatever shine was left. Dan stared down at the tragedy. Keith Scott deserved to die, and even if no one knew it, he was doing the world a favor. Who would want a man like him alive?_

_Dan retreated his arm and put the gun down. He stared at the blood gushing out of Keith's heart, their family blood, and Dan was disgusted that they share the same. Keith was a cheater. He was a liar and a fake. He was not a man, nor was he innocent. Dan Scott was the good guy here, and Keith Scott was born to fail._

_And most importantly, Keith Scott was in love with Karen Roe, and Lucas Scott was going to be his son, and Dan never liked sharing what was his. _

_Dan could hear the sirens. He had to hurry. He placed the gun close to the hands of another body. It was a younger boy, preferably in his teens, with a red hood and a bruised face. Dan narrowed his revolted eyes as he made his way out the doors of Tree Hill High, playing on a solemn look oh his face._

"_Mayor! Mayor Dan Scott!" are the first words he hears. The crowd cried as Dan squeezed out a tear. His forehead hurt from forcing it out, but a couple of more spilled. _

"_I was too late. I... I should have stopped them, but I couldn't find them. That poor boy, and my brother." He made sure to crack his voice. "My heart is burdened when I say they are both dead. Please, let my family and the family of Jimmy Edwards mourn in peace." _

_He could see his soon to be ex-wife staring at him curiously, their son standing tiredly behind her. He didn't look at them for long. He was too busy wondering whether Karen or Lucas had arrived yet. It would be the first time he would have ever actually get a chance to communicate with Lucas, and for Karen, it would be the first time he would be able to fully lay eyes on that beautiful face since high school._

_They didn't come._

"Did you hear that?" Lucas whispers, his eyes darting around the jungle. Dan lifts up his gun, eager to shoot. He eyes gaze around the surroundings, but all he can see are shades of green. Lucas is about to speak again, but Dan hushes him and motions for him to engage his gun. Lucas does so nervously, and Dan creeps deeper into the jungle.

And they hear it again.

Dan shoots into open air, and they hear the rustling of the leaves. The duo darts after the noise, pushing out the obstacles in their way. Dan gets a handful of new cuts, but ignores it. He runs faster, and Lucas is tailing right behind in. Finally, they reach to an open field, and two boars are galloping in a frenzy. "You took the one on the left, I take the one on the right!" Dan instructs. They dash in separation, and it takes approximately one minute and 13 seconds for Dan to shoot down the boar. He runs towards it and takes a peek back at Lucas. He is running after the animal, trying to pull the trigger, yet he comes to the realization that he does not know how to even work the gun. Dan sprints after him and pushes Lucas out of the way for safety, and soon enough, he takes a shot at the running boar. It falls down in a second. They are having meat for dinner.

"How did you know how to do that?" Lucas demands as Dan sits down for a rest. He pays no attention to the fallen boars as he grips the gun tightly in his hands. 

Dan sighs once more. "I told you. Family."

"You're family taught you how to use a gun?"

Dan laughs and scratches the back of his head. "Yes. I used to go hunting with my dad. My brother, he didn't want to."

"And what happened to him?" Lucas isn't letting his guard down.

Dan looks down. "He's dead now."

They make their way back to the camp, a boar slung over each shoulder. This causes an obvious commotion in the beach, and everyone is rejoicing over the new discovery of food. It is expected that everyone would be happy to have something to eat rather than a small portion of fruit and fish. Dan is honored how everyone looks at him... looks at him and Lucas, and he roasts everything over the fire. People come and go, eager for some food, and it is Mouth and Jake's job to hand it all out. Dan glances out at the jungle every now and then, for Brooke and Skills have yet to return. He notices Lucas is doing the exact same thing, and his face is full of worry. What if the monster had gotten to them? What if there was nothing to wait for? Dan does not feel any pity towards this situation, but he sees that Lucas is troubled, so he bears an equally conscious appearance. It isn't long before his son Nathan comes up. Dan takes a glimpse at him unnervingly.

"You got some boar."

Dan nods. "You've had any yet?"

Nathan shakes his head, and Dan places a generous amount on his plate. His son sighs, and does not leave his father's sight. "I didn't know you were going out into the jungle."

"You didn't ask."

"You could've told me. I would have gone with you."

Dan shakes his head. "No. Don't test what's been given to you."

"This isn't destiny, dad!" Nathan snaps, and Dan glances around to see if anyone heard. No one has, and Dan gives Nathan a warning look. "What? You think it was our 'fate' to land on this island? Really? It's all just a coincidence -"

"This is not a coincidence Nathan!" Dan hisses. "You think that we all landed here out of nothing? Do you forget what happened to you?" Nathan looks away and stares at his food. "You can walk now, Nathan. Don't tell me this isn't a coincidence." Dan stalks away from his son, and Nathan is left there alone, standing on two brilliant legs.

"_You haven't packed yet." Dan muttered, standing menacingly in front of his son. Nathan pretended not to hear him. Dan strode towards him and grabbed the collar of his Nathan's shirt. He flinched under the stare of his powerful father. "You seem to forget I'm doing this for you." Nathan pushed Dan's hand away from his throat, and Dan did not attempt to do it again._

"_Screw off," Nathan muttered. Dan smirked._

"_Try that again, Nathan." He didn't. Dan took a step back, and Nathan remained in his spot. "I'm serious. Why don't you come over here a give your old man a smack in the face. No, even better, why don't you stand up and do it?" Nathan looked down. "That's what I thought."_

_Dan turned around, walking past cabinets of trophies and awards – basketball trophies and awards. Dan put his hands on his hips and leaned back. "We're leaving tomorrow, whether you're packed or not. You never understand that everything I do is for you. This is all for you."_

"_And I should be thankful for you yanking on my collar?"_

_Dan raised a brow. "That's me being persuasive. Besides, when it comes down to it, who has your best interest as heart? Me, or your mother?"_

_Nathan frowned. "Mom's in jail."_

"_Exactly. She killed your Uncle Keith." Nathan couldn't respond. "On the other hand, I'm here trying to get you into the most expensive sports clinic in the world. We're going to have your legs fixed, Nathan, and you're going to play basketball again."_

_Nathan stared at him reluctantly, that after a moment passed, he nodded. "Okay."_

"_Good. Now start packing, son, and get some rest. The flight to Sydney will be long." Dan left the room and marched up the stairs, and Nathan wheeled his wheelchair out of sight and into his room._

"Have you seen them?" Dan turns towards Lucas who is walking slowly towards him. Dan shakes his head. It is odd that he is actually starting to feel some remorse for the missing strangers. He mulls over the idea if it is because of the island that makes his emotions run high. Or maybe it is because Lucas is so worried. Maybe it's both. "It's late. Where could they be?"

Dan thinks. "Skills had the transceiver with him. Maybe he tried to use it. Get on higher ground for a better signal." Lucas still looks concerned. "They're smart. I'm sure they're fine." Lucas stares at him, and Dan gives a supportive smile. He can see the curiosity and interest in the boy's eyes. "Anything else concerning you?"

"I think I've seen you somewhere before, Dan."

Something in Dan's stomach excites. "Really?"

"I feel like I have. In a photograph, maybe."

"That's interesting," Dan muses. "Maybe I knew someone in your family. Or a friend of yours. If I'm in a photograph, that is." Lucas considers this, but seems slightly reluctant to divulge in personal information. "You don't have to tell me Lucas. It's fine."

Lucas nods and prepares to turn back around; however, he isn't able to completely do it. Dan does not say anything and does not pressure the boy into saying anything else. He notices that Lucas is carrying the desire to tell him something, like it's important to him to understand how he is connected to Dan. He waits for Lucas to ask, and it doesn't take long. "My mom's name is Karen." He pauses. "I also had a wife named Lindsey and an uncle named Keith."

Dan takes a piece of meat. "Had?"

Lucas looks away from his eyes. "They're both gone."

They sit in silence, and Dan smiles softly at him. "Why did you tell me all of this?"

Lucas shrugs. "Something tells me that you know one of them."

"Something?"

"Or maybe I'm going crazy," he laughs nervously.

"Tell you what. I believe I know two of them." Lucas stares him dead in the eye. "Keith was your uncle? Keith Scott?" Lucas nods carefully, cautious about the information. "Keith was my brother."

They stare at each other, and Lucas is trying desperately to hold himself up. Dan begins to move towards him, but there are calls from the main part of the beach. Lucas stares at Dan as he backs away, almost frightened by what he learns. Dan stands alone as he watches Lucas run towards the newly returned Skills and Brooke, and Dan takes his time as he walks over towards gathered survivors. He reflects on how similar this setup is ,and he tries not to point out how a visit from the monstrous sound followed this setting. Most importantly, he reflects on dear Keith.

Destiny calls.

"What's going on?" Lucas asks authoritatively. Skills breathes heavily, and Brooke is trying to catch her breath. The transceiver is clutched tightly around Skills' hand, and Dan sees as everyone walks over to provide them comfort. Peyton runs up with bottles of water, and Whitey pats Skills softly on the back. Dan watches but is respectful. Lucas asks again. "What happened out there?"

Skills is breathing too deeply, and Brooke glances at the transceiver with a ghostly face. Peyton supports her up, and Lucas holds her shoulders gently. "Brooke? What happened?"

Brooke stares blankly at the group. "We're not the only ones here on the island."

Dan lets out a low whistle. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the piece of lined-paper he shoved in there earlier and holds it close to his eyes. The island is special, and it only makes sense someone wanted to get there first. The real trouble is finding out whether they were invading their territory. If so, Dan starts thinking of a way to form an army.

**Author's Note: Hope I'm not confusing all of you yet. I probably am. Anyways! In case you are all wondering, I didn't exactly base each character off of someone. If I liked their story, I intertwined it with another. There is the obvious Jack and Lucas equivalent, but I Peyton isn't based on anyone. **

**For those of you who don't watch Lost, never fear! It will make everything so much more interesting for you. (: **

**Please read and review! I enjoy it when you discuss you're Lost/One Tree Hill mixed theories. It makes me so much more eager to write the next chapter. Plus, I have taken some of your opinions and added it to my story outline. Have a nice day everyone! R & R!**


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